


If You Tell the Truth...

by felicia_angel



Series: The Conductors of Light [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-29
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-13 03:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felicia_angel/pseuds/felicia_angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of the Conductors of Light series: John and Dean fall into a routine, which is interrupted by two crisis, one by a master blackmailer, and another by a series of strange deaths...</p><p>Fusion of CHAM (The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton) and "You Can't Handle the Truth" (6.06 of Supernatural)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything._ – Mark Twain

 

John was grateful for a month of monotony that had followed in the wake of the reporter’s downfall and the rise of a woman on TV called Frank, who tended to demand the truth. Still, John wasn’t really paying attention to the news, instead focusing on getting the small clinic that he, Mary, and Agar worked up and running while Dean worked his own job as a mechanic and spent some time dealing with the kids, for all the good it did. The psychiatrist had been a bit of a help, but John was sure that Dean’s decision to teach some of the older ones how to hustle pool was built only off of needing to act out. Granted, Raz didn’t seem to mind, and had laughed when he tried to say he knew already, and lost five times to Dean before he admitted he knew a few tricks.

He lost another five to John before he admitted he only knew one.

Still, the current psychiatrist was a better one then John’s old psychiatrist, so that helped things. He didn’t demand John speak and didn’t come in thinking he knew what was wrong with John, instead letting him talk about whatever he wanted to and not really taking notes unless he had to, and was never defensive when it turned out John could read upside down. The man was older, with a mustache and gray-white hair, who dressed like many of those that John had seen at the Diogenes the first time he’d been there, and who probably was a member. He gave his name as Edward Burke, and he seemed happy enough to just talk to John about the latest on the clinic and the like. What he talked to Dean about, John didn’t know, though he did know that, to a degree, Dean was grateful for someone who didn’t seem to consider him crazy.

“We had a case, once,” Dean said as they sat watching some show, his legs and arms wrapped around John protectively, as his breath hot and causing John to shiver a bit as it fell on his neck, “Sam and I, we had to go figure out why people were dying at a psychiatric hospital. Docs were saying suicide.”

“It wasn’t?”

“It was a wraith. They eat human brains. It’s not gonna be checked, if they have a history and slit their wrists or hang themselves.”

“It should,” John muttered, shifting back against Dean. It wasn’t a turn on, hearing about Dean’s life before he arrived here, but Dean’s grip and attention could be. When the man focused on his lovers, John was sure that, for that time, they were all that mattered – not the danger, or what would occur later.

“Well, a fellow Hunter was in there, but he’d gotten himself in after a bad Hunt in Albuquerque. It’s what we all know will happen to us one day – we’ll die, or we’ll just…break.” John sighed, looking at the television as Dean finally said, “Sorry for being such a downer.”

“You needed to talk about it.”

Dean considered for a moment. He was getting more open with John, and for that he was grateful, but he also knew that each story was hard to pull out, just as he knew he’d probably not know a great deal about what happened to Dean over the course of his youth. He suspected that Dean took up drinking at a much younger age then many of the Homeless Network, and the few times he’d heard Dean talking to them on hints about squatting just showed how much time he might have had doing such activities.

“Some of the stuff I revealed, for the sake of being kept there…it hurt, ‘cause it was the one time I was honest.” He let out a bit of a harsh laugh. “First time I’m honest, and it goes in a file somewhere marked ‘crazy bastard’.”

“I’m sure Doctor Burke can tell you that we never mark our files as such.”

That got a laugh out of Dean, making him shift to be closer to John before kissing him on the neck. “I’m glad.” He paused, “I’m sorry for being such a downer.”

“My stories consist of people still in the Army or who have died,” John pointed out, “or stuff about my family I’d rather not go into. You’re fine, Dean.” He shifted, enough to capture Dean’s lips into a kiss and let out a sigh. “Stop talking. Stop thinking, just…”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed out as well, turning to pull John closer as the kiss turned heated and dirty, the younger man shifting against him and moving a hand up under his shirt and sweater.

It wasn’t perfect. John knew they were broken and needed more than just sex and each other to fix things, but it was a start.

\--

“Dean?” The younger man frowned as he looked over at Doctor Agar, stopping from leaving and watching. Agar was perhaps only a few years older than John, but had been working as a GP for longer, so he was more prone to watching over everyone and knowing when they had problems a bit more then John, though John’s ability to demand help from everyone and command them was something Agar didn’t have.

Either way, he was a nice guy. He, John, and Mary made a good team for the small clinic, and it was fun, on Dean’s time off, to hang out with them and help out however he could.

“What’s up?”

Agar stopped, looking a bit worried before saying, “It’s about a friend of mine. He works as a dentist, but…well, he was arrested today for murder. His wife called to tell me.” Agar swallowed, “He killed his best friend, but I can’t really find out anything. I don’t know what would have gotten him to do that, but…I don’t want to ask John to help me on this. Not after--.”

Dean nodded. Agar knew a bit about the supernatural, what with Dean around and being a bit more open about it, so it wasn’t surprising that he and Mary had taken to asking him about one thing or another when he wasn’t working. He did have to hand it to Mycroft, though, what with having his record cleared so he could do more work over at the auto place. His boss was happy too, as was another friend of Sherlock’s who’d apparently been in cahoots with the old man during his ‘wild and crazy’ youth, a nice guy named Angelo. All in all, it was nice to have the group around, even with John feeling saddened by the news Mycroft gave him at Missouri’s funeral.

“Sure,” Dean told him, considering. Yes, his Dad always complained about it when they ran into people that had a job on the side of Hunting, and Dean had seen a few of them, his grandfather included, get hurt because of it. At the same time, it also had worked to keep the family somewhat stable and whole, and Dean couldn’t help but wonder if remaining in one place for a long time would’ve helped Sam at some points, or at least given him a happy memory that didn’t involve getting away from the family.

Dean shut down that line of thought and instead asked Agar for the information. His friend, Doctor Paul Connelly, had killed his friend during a basic dental checkup. Whatever the reason, Paul had simply lost it, and after getting the information, Dean soon found out he wasn’t the only one.

\--

The Diogenes was quiet, as usual, and John recalled Dean’s annoyance at hearing about the club. While John was sure that his relationship with Mycroft was going back to similar to what it’d been before Sherlock’s (apparent) death, but at the same time, also finding comfort in the few things they knew. John was sure that Mycroft was reading some of the stuff that Dean was saying to their psychiatrist, and he seemed to know more about the things that Dean had experienced. It made John a bit annoyed, but at the same time he was glad that someone in a position to keep him out of jail or worse.

“Ah, Doctor Watson,” Mycroft said as he entered the Stranger’s Room, “Thank you for arriving on such short notice. How are things?”

“Fine,” John said, curious. Dean had been asked by Agar to look into something, and he’d launched himself into it with a bit of a gusto, making John realize this must have been how Dean once was, searching for the truth and for whatever was going on when something strange occurred. However, it was the first real case in a month, and with Dean all but climbing the walls as he worked to help the Homeless Network and work with Mr. Johnson to fix cars or anything else that came in. Dean had managed to get another car to fix up, this time getting a few of the Homeless Network and kids who were interested to help him fix it, with Johnson encouraging the few that showed promise.

“That’s good,” Mycroft said, taking a seat before saying, “I’m sad to say I have some bad news. You’ve heard of Miss Ashley Frank?”

John nodded. He hadn’t really watched her show, but knew it was about uncovering the ‘truth’ in many things and had been featuring prominently recently, especially with the Murdock scandals and other things that have come up recently. John had somewhat liked her because of her one episode that focused on Sherlock and the failed arrest, the web’s findings on Moriarty and various reports from New Scotland Yard had all helped when he was still reeling from the fact that Sherlock’s name had been cleared, even as he had to deal with the news that Sherlock could be alive somewhere.

“Well, someone contacted me, originally on her behalf but after some digging I was able to ascertain that it was, in fact, someone under a great deal of stress.”

“Mycroft,” John hated it when either Holmes brother had (would, did…) dance around the subject.

“I learned the name of the person, and also learned they were under the employment of one Charles A. Milverton. Have you heard of him?”

John frowned, blinking before finally nodding. “It was a case that Sherlock nearly took, but he disliked what happened at the end of it…he wasn’t able to negotiate down some price for something, and it ended up hurting his client badly. I wasn’t really part of the case, but I do know the client couldn’t pay what was asked. Sherlock only called me in because of…some stuff from my past he found out about. I wasn’t happy he used it, and he was even less happy that he couldn’t help the client. I think he mentioned Milverton.”

John remembered how Sherlock described Milverton mostly, the analogy to a snake and shivered a bit. If that was who they were going up against, then—

“Ah, I see,” Mycroft said, considering before admitting, “There is a small problem, then.”

“What?”

“It appears Milverton knows that Sherlock is alive, and intends to sell that information, and possibly where he is, to a criminal organization if I don’t comply with his demands.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean looks into the deaths of various people. John and Mycroft work on a plan for Milverton. Casper and Anthea get a bit more hostile.

Dean sighed as he left the police station. Dimmock was on the case about Doctor Connelly, and the news that he’d hung himself in the cell had nearly left him a dead end until Dimmock let him in on the fact that the secretary had heard what transpired between Connelly and his friend, Kenny—  
“Wait, he…killed Kenny?”  
“Shut up.”  
“I had to make sure.”  
“Dean.”  
“I mean, that bastard--.”  
“I will kick you out, I got enough of that from the others that like that damned show.”  
Dean held up his hands to show he gave up before asking, “So, what did she say?”  
Dimmock sighed, considering before saying, “Well, I’ll just say that if someone had mentioned such things about my kid, I would’ve shot them. Repeatedly. I never want to have that conversation with anyone again.”  
Dean sighed, recalling the few times he’d had to deal with such things when he’d been younger. Even back then, he’d managed to fight off whoever he could, but there were times—  
“It never gets better,” Dean finally said, looking away, “trust me, I don’t even call the police at all, and not just because I got arrested my fair share of times.” He didn’t want to mention his own hatred of how bad humans could be, or that some took only a bit before they were demonized. Dimmock only knew a small bit about the supernatural, and most of it he ignored in favor of focusing on cases that didn’t involve digging up a body and burning it.  
“Anything else? I mean…there are others, right?”  
“I was looking into it for a friend of the family,” Dean admitted, “but yeah, I found a few. One…well, her sister tried to say she didn’t know, but the girl was twitchy as well. She finally confessed her sister called from work, she was having a bad day, and instead of doing the whole ‘it gets better, I’m here for you’ thing, she told her she was a burden and she’d be better if her sister just killed her so she didn’t have to deal with the phone calls.”  
Dimmock blinked, obviously amazed and confused. “Seriously?”  
“A few people like that. Suddenly, they’re given the most painful truth there is, and anyone who heard it either commits suicide or kills someone then commits suicide. It’s not good.”  
Dimmock looked worried, sitting forward and frowning. “Do you need any help?”  
Dean considered for a moment before shaking his head. “I got this. Just keep an eye out, in case anyone starts suddenly having the truth told to them and they need some time out. I’m guessing this is something supernatural, probably heavy too.” He didn’t want to get the guy worried either. Whoever it was that was doing this was obviously powerful, meaning it was probably a high-level god or goddess. With few of them left, especially after the attack by Lucifer on the meeting between the other pagan Gods, and the general attitude that some had when it came to humanity, Dean wasn’t sure who this might be, or where he could start to look. He didn’t know what happened with Kali after they’d managed to hide and returned to find Gabriel dead. The goddess had looked mournful before telling Dean and Sam to do what they couldn’t and disappearing, leaving with hardly a word of where she was going.  
Dean sighed and left, heading out of the place and hoping to get a good lead on what would cause all this trouble.  
\--  
John felt himself freeze up, blinking as he looked over at Mycroft and feeling a strange sense of dread and more. He had done what he could to try to let that out, both in the talks with Dr. Burke but this…this was…  
“h-how did he find out?” John managed.  
“I am working on that,” Mycroft said, “though I have some ideas. I have a problem with my staff, especially with Anthea and Casper.”  
John frowned at the knowledge, but the dread was still there, making him wonder why Mycroft had really called him here, and feeling that this could end very, very badly. He recalled all the problems that Sherlock had run into when going up against Milverton before, and the confession that it would take a great deal, including some things that would put Sherlock within his clutches. As this was occurring right on the footsteps of Adler and Moriarty, John knew why he hadn’t taken those final steps, even at the cost of his client. His problem now was how far was Mycroft willing to go, and how badly would that affect them in the end. With the problems between Anthea and Casper, that left Mycroft exposed, and if such things like this happened…  
“I am working on it,” Mycroft said, taking a sip of tea, as if reading John’s mind, “but until I resolve the issue with the two, we can do little but deal with Milverton.”  
“I don’t like it,” John finally said, “I saw the problems that Sherlock had, when he was going up against him. He’s…he’s a snake.”  
 _Humans,_ Dean would say, _worse than demons sometimes, or any of the things I faced. Everyone told me I was exaggerating, that in the end Humans are great…but for every good person I met, for every person who could take this life, I met five others that lost it, or ones that were bad because they wouldn’t get caught, and then…then there were those few, those few that did it because they liked it, because they got off on it._  
 ** _What a sweet little dog you are,_** John heard Moriarty’s sing-song voice say again, ** _Perhaps, if you’re very good, I won’t neuter you._**  
Mycroft let out a bit of a chuckle, though he also looked thoughtful. “I suppose Sherlock would call him such, and sadly he’d be right.” John watched Mycroft as he considered the tea in the cup before him. “I cannot trust Anthea or Casper with helping me in this, not until their feud is done.”  
“You want my help?”  
“Please.”  
John could think of a thousand things to say at that point, but decided only one would really do.  
“Alright then.”  
\--  
“You’re joking,” was one of the first things Dean said as he cooked, John sitting and having explained about Milverton and what was going on.  
“Nope.”  
Dean let out a sort of laugh, one that sadly was becoming more frequent and which John absolutely hated to hear from him. Dean’s real laugh and smile had been out in the open a few times, mostly due to one or more antics by Raz and his group, so not having it anywhere, or having it now appearing in this horribly watered down version, was not something that John liked at all.  
“What?”  
“Just…” he paused, considering and looking over at the TV, which was blissfully off, “I’m looking into something too, for Agar.”  
“About his friend, the dentist?”  
Dean nodded, coming over with a plate of food. “Yeah, but he’s not the only one that died like that. There’s a lot of sudden suicides that could be linked. Well, Dimmok thinks they are, and Anderson is actually started to talk to me.”  
That made John frown. “Why?” Anderson had not liked John’s involvement with Sherlock but they respected each other on a professional level. Despite Anderson’s lack of the same level of thought as Sherlock, he was still a good investigator when it came to forensics, and was now starting to come around to thinking Sherlock was more than just a potential sociopath for them to hunt down. He didn’t quite believe in the supernatural, but his wife was superstitious enough for them both, John had found out, so having someone who knew which things would keep him safe or keep her home safe had only helped the somewhat failing marriage.  
“Well, he hates it when bodies disappear on him like that.”  
“WHAT?”  
“You sure you want to help out Mycroft on this? I mean, I’m probably going up against some big, bad god or goddess. And those are dangerous.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Dude, you admitted to having a damned danger-kink before we got into bed, not my fault I try to exploit it. Sex afterwards is--.”  
John shook his head, “It’s not the…it’s not that.” He stopped again, not sure how much he could reveal to Dean without causing problems for Mycroft. “Just…Sherlock went up against Milverton before.”  
Dean was silent, waiting for John to continue. “I don’t know the details of the case, but I did run into the man, once. He…” John put his utensils down, remembering Sherlock’s words about him. “Sherlock asked me, when he was describing him, about…snakes, in a zoo.”  
 _Do you feel a creeping, shrinking sensation, John, when you stand before the snakes in a zoo and see the slithering, gliding, venomous creatures, with their deadly eyes and wicked flat faces? That is how Milverton seems to me._  
“He’s threatening Sherlock, and by extension Mycroft and everyone who cared for Sherlock,” John said, looking up at Dean. “I don’t know why Sherlock would fake his own death, but I do know that it wasn’t for a show, or to just finish Moriarty. It had to be for another reason, for something that was so bad, so hard for him to consider, that he would willingly do something like that. I can’t let someone like Milverton hurt him. Not again.”  
John remembered the Reilly ‘exclusive’, and the problems it and the media attention when more information came out had caused. He didn’t want to go there again.  
Dean nodded, reaching a hand over to squeeze John’s hand and rub it a bit. “I got it, John. You make sure that bastard pays, ok?”  
“Do my best. You too, you make sure you’re safe. It sounds dangerous.”  
Dean smirked a bit. “Could be,” he muttered, smiling at John with a glimmer in his eye. “You done with dinner?”  
John let out a small laugh, smiling and shaking his head. “Yeah, I am…”  
\--  
Casper took in a deep drag of his cigarette, enjoying the taste. He smirked as he wondered if this was ultimately was Father wanted, for them to give into the temptations that Humanity had after they were given Free Will and failed the Tests of Obedience. Not that he’d ever understood those, but obedience had been born into him, until he’d seen his Brother not only disobey His will, but also, apparently, be _rewarded_ for such disobedience. Then, and only then, had he truly thought about disobedience and what it meant, especially with the knowledge that many of their Revelations were not coming from Father, but from Michael. His other Brothers had agreed with him, and upon finding the dying form of—  
“Casper!” the voice of his colleague, Sandra, brought him out of his reprieve and he glared over at her. He enjoyed his smoke breaks as they often gave him some time to think and consider his new status in life and the world. Melchior enjoyed his time by speaking to others, some that were off or had left home for Earth and what it held, and Balthazar….Well, he’d thrown himself into the idea of Father not returning and seeing how much of the sensations he could get into, and at times speaking with—  
“Casper,” Sandra sounded annoyed, breaking off his line of thought, “Desmona needs you _now_.”  
Oh yes, the ever-changing named one, the woman from a Hunter’s family who was getting more and more angry about his place. It didn’t help that they had a lot of older weapons they shouldn’t, or didn’t know what to do with or how to destroy, but also that the stupid family had scattered and ended up everywhere. Casper had only just realized that she was distantly related to the main branch, which had sired Lucifer’s Vessel.  
“Yes, yes,” he said, putting out the cigarette, “I heard you, dear, no need to be rude. Our dear leader isn’t going to die because I’m a bit late.” Casper smirked at her as she glared at him while they returned. Sandra was a Hunter, or at least from a Hunter family, like the ever-changing name woman, and she was pissed that they hadn’t been able to discover _what_ Casper is. Considering the way the Apocalypse had gone, Casper wasn’t at all surprised, and after what his Brother had revealed to them at the end…well, it was something that had caused more than a few of them to leave in anger, frustration, guilt, and sadness.  At the same time, Casper had attached himself to Mycroft Holmes after he’d witnessed what he was able to do and not do, and the limitations of his powers. It also helped that the man was…well, if he hadn’t been born a Human, Casper would think he’d make a good—  
“Ah, Casper,” the many-named woman said, looking up from her Blackberry, “so glad of you to join us.”  
“Yes, of course my dear,” he said, smirking as he saw her and her other Hunter people with her. It wasn’t everyone, but enough, and he honestly didn’t know what her end-game was, attaching herself to someone who was so firmly in the world of the mundane. “You wanted to speak to me?”  
Desmona, as she was called now, stopped and glared at him. “Whatever you are, I only want to know one thing.”  
Casper had to blink at that, confused at the sudden break in whatever their odd silent war was, and he finally said, “Well, I suppose curiosity makes me ask what that one thing is.”  
She and Sandra looked angry with him, as if his presence and blasé attitude was an affront to their sensibilities and work. He managed a smile as he waited for whatever threat they were going to come up with. Honestly, he was having more fun toying with the Hunters then he’d had for centuries ( _millennia, really, and that was even with Uriel doing some mild pranks and jokes_ ) elsewhere. There was also the problem of getting Dean to come to them, or at least ask for Heavenly help. He knew that Balthazar was working on it, but the truth was his Brother was a bit lazy in some ways, and Casper doubted he’d managed to get it ready, especially not—  
“Are you going to hurt Mr. Holmes?”  
Casper blinked again, wanting to laugh but holding it in. Really? That’s what she was worried about? He reconsidered if she and the others were active Hunters, and not just those that wanted to run away and were now bothering him because he was apparently a supernatural creature.  
“No, I’m not going to hurt our precious boss,” Casper told them. “Why would I? He works so well, save those few hiccups but that’s not his fault. Things were going bad last year, in case you both missed that.”  
“Desmona” frowned at him, considering before saying, “What are you?”  
Oh, he’s not letting her get that so easily, and he smirked at her, looking her over. He’d not taken part in the decadence that Balthazar had, and Melchior had done a few things with the other Angels, all feeling it was better to experiment with each other before a few went on to try it with humans. At the same time, he wasn’t really that interested in her. He was sure all it would do would make her feel unclean or something, even if he told them the truth.  
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which John makes a mistake, Dean works to fix it, and Casper begins to worry...

John sighed, entering the small but extravagant house, frowning as he looked around at the area and then over to where Mycroft came from, smiling a bit before he said, “You’ve got in a few minutes before Milverton did. He decided to come and speak to me.”  
John frowned as he followed Mycroft further into the house, asking, “Why does he want to meet you?”  
Mycroft seemed to be thoughtful about the question, as if uncertain how to answer it. “Well, I see again why Sherlock enjoyed your insight. I don’t know the answer to that question right now. I do know that he may wish to try to bargain, or at least to watch me despair.” John was silent as they made their way into the sitting room, “He seems to enjoy that, having the power over his victims. Honestly, I’d take the paparazzi any day.”  
John thought back to what he’d experienced, and to the dangers of one person with a supposed ‘scoop’ could do. “Not sure I agree with you on that.”  
Mycroft gave a small smile at that, moving to sit down and offering John the one across from him. John tried hard to not think of how much money the Holmes’ would have, if they lived in such elegance all the time. He had never felt comfortable asking, and had also wondered why Sherlock needed a roommate…he supposed it was simply something that he’d wanted, perhaps as an experiment, or maybe it was…  
“John?”  
“Hmm?” John looked back over at Mycroft. “Sorry, million miles away…what did you say?”  
“I was going to ask about Dean,” Mycroft said, “I hear he’s been keeping busy?”  
“A friend lost someone. Dean is looking into it, but he said it could be dangerous.” John sighed as Mycroft looked over at him. “I don’t know what he’s after, but it’s dangerous. I’m hoping…if we can deal with Milverton quickly…”  
Mycroft sat back, looking worried. “I don’t know if I can help. I have my own problems, John, mostly with some of my staff. I’m beginning to worry as well.” He was silent a minute before shifting and reaching in to pull out a tattered and worn journal or planner of some sort.  
“What’s that?”  
Mycroft looked over at John, then back to it before saying, “A journal I picked up from a quick stop in America. I went to speak to Dean’s surrogate father, Bobby Singer. He is…interesting.” The word carried a great deal of weight to it, and John realized that it was enough to tell him what Singer meant to Dean, and what would happen if something happened to him while Dean was here. “I wanted more information on what they were fighting, so I might have some chance of helping, as needed, or of helping the ones here.”  
“And?”  
Whatever Mycroft was going to say was interrupted by a servant entering, saying, “Sir…Mr. Milverton is here to see you.”  
John frowned, disliking the arrival and wishing to talk more about Dean and his past. Though he and Dr. Burke were learning more about all that was going on with Dean and the dangers he’d faced, it often helped John to learn more about him, and the world he’d come from. The few times he’d ever gotten glimpses into Dean’s life and past had been dangerous to the point where it really did frighten John, mostly for Dean’s safety. That the younger man had been in this world for years, that he’d somehow survived still amazed John, and while he knew some of Dean’s problems were being dealt with, he also knew that a majority of them, tied to Castiel and Sam, were far from being touched or helped at all.  
Mycroft stood, John moving to follow as the man John assumed was Milverton arrived in the room. He was short and looked like those men that were constantly angry with the world, or that were rich and believed they should be given everything they wanted because of it. John could now see why Sherlock had brought up the snake analogy when speaking about Milverton, his wire rim glasses doing little to hide his annoyance at John’s presence or the obvious calculating look as he motioned to John. “And who is this?”  
“An acquaintance,” Mycroft said, John a bit grateful that Milverton hadn’t recognized him from the photos Reilly had printed or any of the other sources that had shown him and Sherlock. Oddly enough, that told him enough about Milverton then he thought he should know – he was only going to look at those who could possibly pay the horribly high price for keeping things quiet, and like Miss Adler, would do what he could to keep his lifestyle in place.  
“And he knows of the…situation?”  
“I have informed him, yes. I was hoping for his guidance on the matter.”  
John was silent as Milverton finally nodded, taking a seat as John and Mycroft did the same, John noting that Mycroft appeared a bit annoyed. John couldn’t blame him, considering this was a blackmail attempt and the second of its kind. What did worry John was that Mycroft felt the need to involve him instead of anyone else. They both knew Sherlock was alive and, while it was still hard for John to look into some things, he’d taken to looking into some of the news so he’d be prepared, and found more and more people joining the “Believe in Sherlock Holmes” movement. The cases that had been reopened and looked into only reinforced Lestrade’s own competence as an investigator. It helped Sally as well, though she still hated Sherlock in her own ways, and despite the earlier animosity, Anderson was at least getting along with others, Dean included.  
“Well, then you know why I’m here,” Milverton said, smiling in a way that reminded John more of a shark or something equally nasty, instead of a snake. He wondered briefly if Dean knew of any supernatural beings like that…possibly a demon, “I have come into something of value that will compromise your…relationship…with your brother. I have made my offer and am here to see about it.”  
Mycroft was silent, considering, and John could almost hear the wheels in his head turning. John guessed that Irene Adler’s turn at trying to harm Mycroft, as well as what happened with Sherlock, had meant that Mycroft was now working more towards protecting himself or thinking things through. At the same time, he had to guess that Mycroft already did that, but was now double-checking himself. Or something…John wasn’t sure, and he only hoped that they didn’t get hurt by this again. The attempt to have a holiday, which had been ruined by the older witch and nearly dying, was not something John wanted to repeat.  
Mycroft finally sighed and looked, to John, like his old self. Like the confident man who’d kidnapped him with the use of the CCTV and who’d demanded Sherlock put on clothing while in Buckingham Palace. It was something that, to be fair, John had missed about the elder Holmes. Sherlock’s secret and the loss of the power-play had not done good things for Mycroft. John suspected he’d pulled all the others around him even more to show how competent he was. And now, Milverton, a professional, was trying to blackmail him.  
John thought that Sherlock would try to make the case, and maybe get John to help in the fight if it came to that. Mycroft, however, glanced over Milverton once before saying, “Yes, about that…you seemed to have employed a similar tactic with my brother.”  
Milverton frowned and John almost felt sorry for the bastard as Mycroft continued, “No, in fact, I’m quite sure you did. You’ve used it against a few. I doubt anything I say, even if it’s close to asking price, will suffice. You’d rather I have this exposed, to show how much power you have. I’m guessing you have between three to seven other cases like mine, though judging by the state of your shoes, you either are trying to make me believe that you’re on hard times, or have fallen behind for scandals. More and more of them are being exposed before you can just blackmail them…the internet age is not helpful to blackmailers, is it?”  
Milverton looked even angrier, starting to stand as John noticed something that made him frown, Mycroft’s voice cutting through the air like a sharp knife as he hissed at Milverton, “SIT.”  
The blackmailer sat, looking pale as Mycroft, instead, looked in more control of the situation than before. John swallowed at the look as Mycroft slowly stood, using his height and intelligence to quickly take Milverton apart.  
“So, what do you have, exactly, that proves my brother is alive?” Mycroft asked, waiting a moment. “I know it’s not a body – to disturb a grave, especially one that had already been…desecrated, at least the headstone, would be in the worst taste, even for some tabloids. I doubt you have concrete photos, my brother hated having his photos taken whist alive and active. He’s very good at hiding…he managed to even evade me during his more…troubled times, so I suppose thinking someone as dull and ordinary as you,” John saw Milverton flinch, “could get such information is a stretch. Unless you plan on blackmailing me by saying you’re going to let dear Miss Reilly drag herself through that fiasco again, I suggest you give me more than simply your word that it’s…obvious evidence.”  
Milverton swallowed, then smirked a bit when he spotted something and shrugged, looking confident despite the outward nervous look. “You’ll have to ask the right way.”  
Mycroft glared at him, getting Milverton to shrink back, as John felt something Dean had said about his own case click.  
If you tell the truth…  
The connection was the time it happened, what was playing…  
John slowly stood, Mycroft snorting and looming over Milverton. “I hate to disappoint, but unless you answer the question--.”  
“My price is that, Mycroft Holmes. You ask the right question and--.”  
“No,” John said, speaking up and getting both to look at him. “No, that is not the price you’re asking.”  
“John.”  
“I said no,” John growled out, anger rising. He remembered what Dean had said, what he’d told John about the bodies Anderson had looked at, about the show that was on, about the power of gods and goddesses, angels and demons.  
“You don’t--.” John suddenly knew that it was either say it now, or have Mycroft say it. It was either put himself in the line of fire again, and hope that Dean could fix it, or leave it be.  
“He doesn’t get the truth,” John said, “I do. I want the truth, and you’ll give it to me, now.”  
Somewhere in the house, a television played on low volume, turned to “Frank Talk”.  
Milverton paled at the pronouncement, and John demanded, quietly and with a great deal of anger, “What do you have on Sherlock Holmes?”  
Mycroft began to speak up as Milverton quickly said, “N-nothing, just rumors, and Moran said I was supposed to see if I couldn’t get rid of you, get you or the Ice King into some state where he’d have a better chance at you…he didn’t realize what I had, and I wan-wanted to use her, she’s been getting enough tributes but I can’t control her much longer.” He swallowed again and suddenly smirked. “She’s been wanting you or that American slut of yours for a while. Said something about how wonderful you’d taste. Get you or him to call up the sibling--.” He suddenly put a hand over his mouth to silence himself, but he wasn’t quick enough.  
John blinked, fear and horror at the implication making him back away. Milverton managed to get up and escape as Mycroft looked at him but John shook his head, hoping that what this meant wouldn’t harm anyone else. He didn’t have long – the truths he would get would be painful, painful enough to kill – and he had to get Dean here.  
“John? What was that about? How did you get him to tell you those things? I had deduced that he was working for someone, but I’m afraid I can’t be--.”  
“Shut up,” John said, grimacing as Mycroft looked ready to speak. “No, please. I need two things from one. One is to shut up, not talk no matter how much you want to. The other is to let me use the phone to call Dean.”  
Mycroft nodded, handing over his own cell that, apparently, had Dean’s number in it. After a glare and a shrug, which seemed to convey “after that business on the coast, it seemed appropriate”, John dialed and waited.  
“Hello?”  
“Dean…I made a big mistake.”  
\--  
Dean was silent, angry and all but pushed his way into the house, allowing himself to be led to the small room and entering on his own, sighing at how far away John was from where Mycroft sat.  
“Lemme guess. Milverton?”  
“I take it John was not as discrete as I would’ve liked,” Mycroft muttered, looking a bit annoyed and like it was taking all of his self-control to just say that and nothing else.  
“Dude, you got nothing to be pissy about, ok? It’s your brother who had to leave you the goodbye note. And who used John as a damned suicide note.” Dean let out a breath. “Crap, this isn’t good. I knew you had a stubborn streak and a danger kink, but what the hell were you thinking, John?”  
“It was either me or Mycroft.”  
Dean let out a string of curses that got Mycroft to look surprised before saying, “Fine, lesser of two evils. What’d the bastard say?”  
Mycroft answered, “He didn’t say much, though he mentioned a ‘Moran’, which I know. He was one of Moriarty’s lieutenants, but we were unable to track him. I believe dear departed Jim wanted him to be a sort of ace in the hole, considering how hard it is to find anything about him. However, that is the only connection he has to knowing Sherlock is alive.” Mycroft paused, looking strained before saying, “He said ‘siblings’, though. And made a great deal about a woman having enough tributes, but wanting either John or you…something about how you taste.”  
“Make sense. Gods took up eating human flesh…” the Hunter rolled his eyes at the twin looks of horror he got. “Trust me, I went up against a few of them and some others to know it’s not always human sacrifices. A few need some tribute, a thought or fruit or…something. Some of the main ones have gone to it because they don’t get enough, or because they’re being polite. I know Kali said the ones in China have enough foodstuffs and tributes, even during Mao, that they lived like kings. But others got a taste for it and like that, or they have a death-wish.” He moved over to John, looking him over. “You doing ok?”  
“He said they want me to call…call Harriet.”  
“You’re not that stupid, are you? Well, no you’re not, I might be, but--.”  
“Dean…”  
“Truth or perceived truth,” Dean told him simply, “You got yourself cursed by a major goddess, Veritas.”  
“I wasn’t surprised it’s a goddess of truth,” Mycroft said, “but it sounds like you don’t like it. And since you were able to name Kali as if you knew her, I suppose that means you’ve gone up against a few major gods, and not so major ones.”  
“Major goddesses are harder to deal with,” Dean said, “takes a very specific thing to kill them. Sam and I went up against some minor Yuletide gods once…nasty duo. They thought it was fun to sell wreaths to unsuspecting couples, sneak into their houses, and take them home to eat. Best way to ruin a Christmas. Not that Sam and I have a lot of good Christmas memories anyway.”  
John sighed, shifting before saying, “So, goddess…this one, how do we kill her?”  
“We need dog’s blood.”  
“WHAT?”  
“Trust me, it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve gotten. That being said, I really like animals even if I’ve never had a pet in my life ‘cause I knew we wouldn’t be able to care for it, so Mycroft can get that.”  
Mycroft blinked, Dean shrugging as he said, “Seriously, I’m not getting it, and you really want John walking anywhere but from here to Veritas’ house to gank her?”  
Mycroft managed a small smile. “Not the weirdest thing I’ve asked for either, I suppose, and I’ll see what I can do.”  
He stood, exiting the room as John visibly slumped in relief. “Sorry, but…I just, don’t want to know any state secrets. Or stories about Sherlock as a child. Or anything else.”  
“Well, instead you have me. Lucky you,” he paused as he looked at the journal, looking back to John. “T-that’s Dad’s journal.”  
“Mycroft said he went to visit Bobby Singer, after what happened. He’s nothing if not thorough.” John sighed. “I didn’t know about it until today.”  
“I know. I left a lot of my stuff with Bobby. I kept one too, but…” he paused, opening it and looking inside. “Why is it always me that gets left alone? Everyone else always has someone, always gets a short period of time before they have someone, but…it’s always me for a long time, and it’s always Dad or Sam leaving, or Sam, or Bobby…or Cas…”  
John seriously considered having Dean leave the room. The longer he was here, the more likely it was that Dean would speak more and more truths, which would get uglier and uglier. Even if Dean wasn’t the one who had the curse on him, John guessed that his body would still go to Veritas.  
“We’re not talking about this,” John said, “I got shot in the shoulder and my sister’s an alcoholic. My best friend that I had a thing for and never told is possibly alive, though I saw him fall from a very tall building, and if your brother is alive, he’s an arsehole for not contacting you when you were living in the States.”  
Dean looked up as John paced, annoyed. “If he was alive, and didn’t tell you, how is he any different from Sherlock? What was his damned suicide note?”  
“John…”  
“WELL?”  
Dean sighed, shifting to look up at John. “He told me to go have the apple-pie life. Go get together with that girl, Lisa, and her son Ben. He thought it was all I wanted. I had to leave the life…leave this all behind.”  
John swallowed, looking away as Dean slowly stood and walked up, asking quietly, “Ok, your turn. What was his note?”  
“That…he was a fake. That he looked me up before we met. That I had to tell them all he was a fake, that he’d created Moriarty to look clever. I told him I couldn’t. I still can’t. I just…I want him back.”  
Dean nodded. “Yeah. But if you try to make a Deal again…”  
John laughed a bit. “Promise I won’t. Not again.”  
\--  
Casper put out the cigarette as he entered the main room, frowning as he saw that Balthazar was working on something and Melchior was checking on Heaven. “Homesick?”  
“I wanted to see how our Brother was doing,” Melchior said, frowning as he waved to end the vision, “He’s not in Heaven anymore.”  
“Oh?”  
“I’m not sure where he is. None of our other brethren are speaking about it.”  
That got Casper to worry a bit. Their brothers were normally a bit loud and nosy, so having them clam up about anything was out of character.  
“Our timetable’s been moved up,” Melchior said, Balthazar frowning as he finished his project, “If we want him back alive.”  
“We shouldn’t rush this,” Balthazar said, “After all, Cassie’s been known to be a bit more…reserved, than the rest. And all things considered--.”  
“We only have so much time before they’re too protected to come to our hands,” Melchior cut him off, making Casper frown. He loved his brothers, but he was beginning to think that Melchior was pouring a bit too much into this plan. It had its value, yes, and Balthazar’s own side-project to reel in the guys was also something that Casper approved of. The problem was how things were turning out.  
The truce between Casper and the English Campbells had turned into more of a sibling rivalry, and Casper was starting to think it was kinda like the one that the elder Holmes had with his brother. Enough to be antagonistic, but also working together as the situation called for.  
However, he’d recently asked Anthea for dog’s blood, and considering that Veritas had been summoned and used already, and was currently under the “control” of Milverton...well, Casper was not happy with this.  
“What, going to grab them the minute they’re done with the blackmailer and the pagan?” Balthazar asked, unhappy.  
Melchior nodded. “Yes. It would be best.”  
“You’re joking.”  
“You have your project, and I have mine. We need--.”  
“We don’t,” Balthazar said, “Heaven’s been quiet. Cassie obviously pulled something, or got Raphael to agree to something, which I would’ve given money to see. We can wait, or figure out an alternative.”  
Melchior glared at them, Casper finally shrugging, “I like it on Earth well enough. If we work things out, Mycroft could actually be in charge of it, and run it quite well. A few ‘heavenly’ assists, or even spells or two, would keep the order for another century. It’d be nice.”  
“I can’t believe you two,” Melchior said, motioning to where their charge sat, asleep. “The Messenger must be resurrected! He has to take his place. If he doesn’t, then all that was planned, all that should have happened but didn’t because of shoddy work, will be for naught!”  
Casper had forgotten how focused his brother could be on such things. Melchior, of all of them, had been the one to take sequences the most to heart. Of course, Balthazar had also been the most faithful to all orders, second only to Castiel. He’d been a few years behind Cassie in Hell during the attempt to rescue the Righteous Man, and the events there, as well as Castiel’s involvement with said Righteous Man, had colored his judgement about humanity. Time among them had not helped.  
Casper wanted a cigarette, suddenly, or to speak to Anthea about it. He wondered, briefly, if there could be a truce between the two, and the Hunters afterwards. He’d like to watch over England.  
“We’re doing this,” Melchior said, his voice suddenly harsh, “Heaven is inbalanced, what do you think that will do here? Already greater gods are demanding more, encroaching on our territory. Already Perdition is being re-divided among the elders that once held it. How long before one of Eve’s children works to release her? Dragons are on the move, and the Alphas are as well. We must bring balance back. Or do you want the only option to be finding and opening a portal to Purgatory? Using the souls of those damned by the sins of an ignorant and lying female?”  
Casper had forgotten, how much hatred there was for Eve. He wondered, again, if that had all been justified - had her rebirth as a monster-creator, and her clone, really been worth the trouble?  
Balthazar lets out an annoyed breath. “We’ll do what we can for now, Melchior. If a better opportunity comes, we’re taking it.”  
Casper nodded, agreeing with Balthazar. He knew that his brother had taken some of Heaven’s weapons, had seen him cutting up the Staff of Moses and look for one that needed to deliver justice. For all Balthazar would condone Humanity, he would not let children or the younger generation get hurt in some way. Casper knew he was narrowing his sights on someone.  
Melchior glared at them, but nodded. “Very well.”  
\--  
The drive was silent for the most part, Mycroft complaining a bit about being left out before Dean and John had listed out the reasons for him not coming with them to Milverton’s household. John suspected his wish to come, as well as Dean’s rather hurtful remarks, were because of Veritas’ curse on him.  
Still, both men had said some pretty bad things, and John couldn’t help but wonder if things like this were worth it.  
“Stop thinking you messed up our budding bromance,” Dean muttered, getting John to look at him, “Me and Mycroft. We agree on stuff, but we ain’t friends. I get some of what he does, just...some of it is shady to me. And I did credit card fraud.”  
John managed a smile before he said, “Will you give him a chance?”  
“He got fooled, same as you did. And...I know what it’s like, letting your brother go into danger after you do something stupid. I can forgive him for that.”  
Milverton’s house was almost a fortress, or at least very well-guarded, and Dean drove around it once, muttering various truths under his breath, before finding a place to stop in a deserted area nearby and getting out with John. With the efficiency of years, Dean opened the trunk, got the weapons, as well as some things for John to use while breaking into a house, before they headed over there.  
“Ever break in anywhere?”  
“If I told you ‘yes’, would you be surprised?”  
“Nope,” Dean said with a small smile, “Sherlock seems the type to do that.”  
John was a bit amazed how quickly Dean could go back to thinking of Sherlock as alive, while he supposed it had to do with the “revolving door” policy that Heaven and Hell had for the Winchesters, he also was worried about it. He knew, too, that Doctor Burke was worried over Dean’s slow acceptance that his brothers were gone. Dean’s decision to stay in England, John was pretty sure, was due to something he’d found out about Hell. As John knew enough to know that it took thousands of Angels to get one soul out of the main part of Hell, he was pretty sure the defeat came from Sam’s destination.  
Dean expertly and quietly got them in, John trying hard not to think of or revel in the adrenaline feel he had from the adventure. For he and Sherlock, it was the thrill of the chase, of finding the truth amid all the lies, and, at least for John, of being able to write up what happened afterwards and slowly unravel the mysteries for his readers. Dean, though...Dean seemed to look at it as methodical, as a job, and one where the benefits were only that someone was saved from death. They weren’t saved from the knowledge of the supernatural, and couldn’t stop the pain of those that lost loved ones. It made John wish that Dean had gotten a better life, or could have one. Right now, it felt...like they were simply waiting. Waiting for Sherlock to return. Waiting for Dean to come to terms with all that had happened. Waiting for...any sign.  
They found their way to Milverton’s study quickly, John frowning at Dean as he looked around. Dean shrugged, muttered, “I had some time off” and set about finding the safe and opening it quickly. John looked around the room and frowned when he found two areas, one with an open door. Dean blinked when John motioned him over and he tested it before whispering, “I don’t like it. All the info I got said Milverton’s got a schedule. We need to be careful.”  
John nodded, Dean heading back to safe and muttering some more before the two stopped, listening to a faint sound of footsteps heading their way.  
Both quickly made the room look like no one had been there before going to hide behind the curtain, Dean looking like he was shaking a bit as John swallowed. They had all the things to kill Veritas but the question was where, exactly, in the house she was. Dean had also mentions that if they could simply banish her, that might help out instead.  
“Less of a mess or worry to tell the police,” he’d told Mycroft and John as they’d gotten ready for the night, “you don’t want to explain the sudden disappearance of a tv star, do you?”  
“I’m a bit worried that you already had that thought out.”  
Dean had just smiled at that, and now John was silent as they watched Milverton slowly enter, pass around the room a few times, then walk over to a picture and slowly take it down, revealing the pagan-style altar that had Dean looking like he was barely holding in all of the cursing he wanted to do. The woman from Frank Talk appeared, dressed like some sort of Byzantine queen, her face looking cat-like before appearing more human. “What?”  
“A new client is coming,” he told her with an oily smile, “I know you’ve been gorging on tasty tongues, but this one has some notes that might nab me enough money. I want to make sure she tells the truth.”  
The goddess looked disgusted with him but nodded, slowly transforming into a cat as she waited, Milverton heading to his desk to read something before there was a slight knock on the door and a woman, dressed in black and with her face covered, walked in.  
“It’s late,” he muttered, sounding annoyed, “you couldn’t have gotten away earlier?”  
A shake of the head, and with no movement from the cat-Veritas, Milverton continued. “Well, then we shall get to business. You said you have letters that compromise a certain...lovely...lady and I am willing to pay for those letters. Now, all I need is to verify...”  
The hood the woman was wearing dropped, Veritas hissing and Milverton looking up in shock. “Y-you!”  
“Yes,” John froze at that voice. “It’s I. I’m disappointed in you. Needing a goddess to do your job?”  
Milverton suddenly let out a weak, nervous giggle that made John want to punch him. “This whole household is still awake. All I need to do is raise my voice--.”  
“I know. It’s why I’m here. I want them to know you died. I would like, very much, that they come in and see what I do to you.” A small gun was taken out of her jacket and lowered. “I know we never got on, Milverton, but I never thought you were that petty. I cared a great deal for friend. And then...what you did to her, after she begged you not to. After you knew she didn’t have the money? And you laughed at her, like you want to laugh at me, coward that you are. That she had to leave and never return, because of your filth.”  
The gun was raised easily, and Veritas simply watched as Milverton shot looks between them. “I rid the world of slime. It’s the least I can do.”  
Dean and John managed to remain silent as she shot - each was meant to prolong his life, but not for very long, and with the door to the main room locked...  
She turned enough that John didn’t even need to guess anymore before she stomped down on Milverton’s head, Dean watching but John unable to, then looked at the cat as the household began to wake. “Leave, and free this town...or I’ll let the Hunter deal with you.”  
Veritas appeared again, and motioned to the curtain. It opened, and John looked over at the woman, who glanced at him with sad eyes.  
“John.”  
“Irene.”  
Dean huffed. “Not that this isn’t a heartbreaking reunion, but can we...” he motioned to the safe, which was suddenly empty of all it’s contents, while the fire now raged. The goddess glanced at him.  
“You want to kill me.”  
“You make that sound like a surprise.”  
She smiled a bit. “Our natures cannot be helped, but we are...not all slaves to our hunger. Your man is free of my curse. I won’t be around for years.” She disappeared as well, along with the shrine, and the woman motioned to the open door. “Shall we?”  
They followed her out, racing the men on the grounds and easily scaling the wall before Irene let out a small laugh. “I forget, sometimes, how dangerous my life is.”  
“They lied to me,” John said, quiet, and Irene looked at him.  
“I enjoyed the epitaph, at least. Thank you. Few would have done that,” she glanced at Dean. “The fabled Winchester. I’ve heard things about you.”  
“Yeah, and John told me about what you do on the side,” he paused again. “Your friend...was she named Bela?”  
Irene looked genuinely surprised. “You met her?”  
“Unluckily,” Dean muttered, “sad to say, I didn’t say the nicest things, at the end. Should’ve, considering.”  
Irene was silent. “Do you know what he did? What he let out?”  
“I have a guess,” Dean told her, “and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. If there’d been a way out, I would’ve told her to take it and run.”  
Irene managed a small smile. “I’ve cheated death enough to know when someone couldn’t.”  
Dean shook his head. “No, lady. No, you haven’t.”  
Irene was silent. “No. Not like you or John. I’m not that strong.” She shrugged. “I must go. Mycroft wouldn’t like me back in Eng--.” she stopped, a look of sudden shock on her face, John gasping at the bloodstained, circular sword-like thing sticking out of her midsection, and Dean suddenly cursing and starting to level his gun when a man, one of Mycroft’s, appeared between them and put a finger on their foreheads. Darkness engulfed them both.


End file.
